


heart-to-hearts (and crafts)

by casualbird



Series: dedue week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Knitting, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), cozy wintertime activities~, does dedue have a crush on dimitri? who can say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22163623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/pseuds/casualbird
Summary: Mercedes teaches Dedue to knit, and a couple other things besides.Written for Dedue Week--day three, friends.
Relationships: Mercedes von Matritz & Dedue Molinaro
Series: dedue week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593229
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	heart-to-hearts (and crafts)

Mercedes shifts in her overstuffed chair, stretches her arms above her head, shakes out the tension in her hands. She sighs a little, clearly contented. Dedue glances up at her, catching her gentle smile, the contented crinkle of her eyes.

“That’s better,” she says crisply, reaching for her teacup. “You should take a break, too—you don’t want your hands to cramp!”

“Right.” Dedue hastens to finish his row, laying down his knitting to flex his fingers. It’s almost surprising, the way they seize up. Well. He figures he’ll get used to it with time.

Mercedes savors her tea for a moment—something with clove and cinnamon and just the slightest bit of caffeine, for those sleepy autumn mornings. It’s a favorite of theirs: though their childhoods were radically different, it’s nostalgic for both and goes splendidly with Mercedes’ grandmother’s shortbread recipe besides. They’re halfway through their pot of it, now, and Dedue is very much considering allowing himself to be cajoled into making another when they’re done.

Well. There are things to do. He’s got weeding duty this afternoon, and the greenhouse needs attention after that--the pumpkins are nearly ready. And that’s not even considering his coursework, and, of course, anything with which Dimitri might require his assistance. But it’s a nice thought, anyway, and the time they do have can be enough.

“May I see what you have so far?” Mercedes’ sugared voice shakes him out of his head, puts a bashful smile on his face. He nods, spreads the stitches out so she can see.

It’s-- a little lumpy, and the width isn’t exactly uniform, but it’ll do well enough for a first try. Mercedes seems to think so as well, reaching out for it, stretching the blue-gray strands between her fingers.

“You’re doing fabulously,” she tells him, and. Well. If Dedue thinks that’s something of an overstatement, he keeps it to himself. “It’s very soft!”

That, at least, is a fact, though it’s got little to do with Dedue’s own skill. The yarn is from Mercedes’ own stash, from the secret hoard of craft supplies she keeps in a basket underneath her bed. It’s impressive, really, with all of its ribbons, folded bolts of cloth, knitting and crochet needles, and a variety of other tools Dedue can’t quite make out the purpose of. She’d shown it to him with pride that morning, let him choose.

This ball of yarn--from House Dominic’s sheep, she tells him--was. Well. Among all of Mercedes’ bright springtimey colors, all of her pastels, this one was the obvious choice.

Dedue hides his blush behind his teacup, and realizes that with his ever-roaming mind, he’s forgotten to thank her. So he does, his voice hushed, and she hums her acknowledgement, taking up her own knitting once more--a tidy thing the color of goldenrods, already long enough to brush her skirts when she holds it at chest level.

Taking her cue, Dedue resumes his own work as well. It doesn’t take long to fall back into the rhythm of it, winding the yarn around his little finger, pushing the stitches up his needle as he goes. It’s--almost meditative, like tending plants, like working through an old, familiar recipe.

He almost feels as if he’s getting the hang of it.

And so they carry on, for something that must be--at least a quarter of an hour, maybe half. All Dedue is really certain of is that the tea is nearly gone, that the monastery’s ever-present draft is chilling it even through Mercedes’ cheerful pink tea cozy.

He’s just finished puring himself one last half-cup when Mercedes speaks again.

“Dedue?” She sounds--pensive, almost, and a little dreamy, the tone her voice takes when you catch her on her way to the cathedral. Or, well, at almost any time, really. “May I ask you a question?”

“You just have,” he says, a little wryly. It’s not--the kind of joke he would make around just anyone, but Mercedes has always been.. accommodating. Even now, she giggles appreciatively, as if it’s the first time she’s ever heard that line. “But you may ask another.”

Her lips widen in a smile, and Dedue tells himself that he is _not_ struck by her dimples, by her crooked teeth.

“Who are you making that scarf for?”

And then Dedue really is struck--his teeth clutch at the inside of his cheek, and he can feel himself coloring again. “Well, I’m not sure it’ll be... up to standard, for giving to anybody. It’s... a little untidy.” He breathes a self-deprecating laugh, poking the tip of one finger through a gap in the weave.

“If it had turned out... I was planning to give it to His Highness. His birthday is in the next moon.”

Mercedes shakes her head, just slowly, as if she’d been anticipating that answer. Dedue supposes that makes sense. He’s aware of himself as a... somewhat predictable man.

“It’s admirable, you know,” says Mercedes, after a moment. She’s laid her knitting down completely, now, her hands folded over it in her lap. “That you care for Dimitri like that. You’re always working so hard to show him your love.”

Dedue sets his own work aside at that, his fingers lacing together anxious over his chest. He’s never put it in that context. Never conceived of his work, of his loyalty as a--a labor of love. And Mercedes putting it like that--it feels almost as if he’s being called out, somehow chastened for it. The points of his teeth needle at his lower lip, and that thing in his mind, the one that he’ll never admit has anything to do with self-preservation, insists that he’s needed elsewhere. Those pumpkins, it chides him, cry out for attention.

“I--” he manages, voice faltering, but she cuts him off.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel shy! I really do look up to you for it.” She flashes him another smile, blithe, the farthest thing from judgment. Even across the table, it’s comforting, like the feeling Dedue gets when he’s taken a hit, when she comes loping across the battlefield to lay her hands on him, to suffuse him with her magic.

“And besides, there’s different kinds of love. I’m not suggesting you want to sweep Dimitri off his feet!” She hides a giggle behind her fingers, the soft sunlight catching on her painted nails. “Though there’d be nothing wrong with you if you did,” she adds, just to make him blush. (It works.)

There’s a shaking in Dedue’s breath as he sighs, reaching for his teacup just to have something to do with his hands. “I suppose that’s true. And in some sense... yes. I do love His Highness. Very much.”

“I know,” she says, her tone softening. “You’re a very loving person, Dedue. That’s another thing I admire about you.”

And there’s still something twisting, writing in Dedue’s mind, looking for a way out, begging him to at least ask her what she means by--by all of this _kindness._ It doesn’t feel... _deserved._ He’s only been doing what comes naturally to him.

“But I always have to wonder,” she continues, and her words carry an air of _practice,_ as if she’s been planning this. Dedue laughs despite himself, under his breath. Plenty of people write Mercedes off as aloof, a daydreamer--and she is, but there’s more to her than that. She can be... quite sly, when she wants to be. “If you’re always taking care of Dimitri, who’s taking care of you?”

“Like that scarf,” she adds, motioning to the tangle in his lap. “If you’re going to give it to Dimitri, won’t _you_ be chilly? I don’t want you to catch cold!”

He knows where she’s going with this. People always try to tell him things like that, about--looking out for himself. Putting himself first. And it’s not that they’re _wrong,_ per se, it’s only...

Well. He admits that he might be a bit of a better-adjusted person if he quite understood it himself. Still, he sits politely, resolutely _not_ sweating, and makes every effort to humor her.

“Duscur is a cold place,” he insists, on instinct. “and so is Fhirdiad. I’ve plenty of experience with harsh winters.”

“Oh, I’m sure!” she says, as good-naturedly as ever. “Ever since I came to Faerghus--” she crosses her arms about her chest, playing at a shiver, “brrr! But this scarf is for you anyway.”

And Dedue hadn’t anticipated _that,_ that even someone as--as determined a sweetheart as Mercedes would go to that sort of effort for _him._ And then he really is sweating, his hands shifting anxious in his lap.

He deflects--”but then, who’s making a scarf for you? Won’t _you_ catch cold?”

Nothing fazes this woman. It’s Dedue’s favorite thing about her, except for in this moment. (Perhaps _especially_ in this moment.) She just huffs a pleasant little sigh, fixes him with another sunshine smile.

“Oh, I did! A couple of years ago, now, when I was at the School of Sorcery! And then I made one for Annie. After yours, I’m thinking of giving one to Felix! Maybe a pink one, with little puffballs on it...” Her gaze drifts off into space, toward the rafters, completely dreamy.

“Maybe Ashe would like one better, though, and I’m not sure if he has a good one. Not that I’m especially good at knitting, mind! But I’ve got this lovely ball of sage-colored yarn, it’ll go so nicely with his eyes... It’s soft, too...”

And Dedue only sighs fondly, feels himself relaxing into his chair. Checks the clock on the wall--he supposes he can spare another five minutes or so, put another few rows on Dimitri’s scarf. See if he can finally get the hang of it.

And, well. It’s not as if the company’s unpleasant.

“Thank you, Mercedes,” he murmurs, taking up his knitting needles.

“Anytime, sweetheart. What are friends for?”

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed Dedue and Mercedes to have a good old-fashioned stitch n' bitch. And to be cozy. And to be dear friends.
> 
> Tell me what you thought! This is kind of different from what I usually write.
> 
> And, as always, you can come hang out with me on [twitter,](https://twitter.com/bird_scribbles) if you're 18+


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